out of the vehicle and headed toward the entrance of the building.
He could have called Ty and asked him for the security code to unlock the lobby doors, but Jack was reluctant to give his brother any more fodder. Instead he stood in the cold Detroit night, huddling deeper into his wool overcoat and waiting for a woman who could be the beginning of a new six-month chapter in his life.
When he’d turned sixteen, Jack had realized that his life seemed to move in six-month cycles. Friends, his mother’s boyfriends, father’s girlfriends, sports—all seemed to last only that long. He’d tested his theory a couple of times and it had proved true. His own interest in new things lasted no more than six months. The only enduring interest he’d found was his love of music.
Women, music, cars, houses. He surrounded himself with whatever was fashionable and pleasurable at the moment and felt no qualms when it was time to move on. It was an inescapable part of his nature, and he’d come to terms with it.
The door opened and he stepped forward. For a minute he couldn’t breathe. Her thick black hair curled around her heart-shaped face. She tilted her head to the side, studying him in the harsh glow of the security lamp.
“Hello, Jack.”
Her voice was even more potent in person, brushing over his senses and starting a tingling at the base of his spine. He wanted to feel those full lips of hers against his skin while she spoke.
“Lauren,” he said. Oh, yeah, he was a smooth talker.
“You want to follow me to the diner I mentioned on the phone?” She pulled a pair of leather gloves from her pocket and put them on.
“I’ll drive us.”
He cupped her elbow and led her across the parking lot to his car. He knew she didn’t need his assistance to walk across the pavement, but he had been unable to wait another second to touch her. Even in such an avuncular way.
Rationally he knew he couldn’t feel the softness of her skin through the layers of coat and gloves. But with the sweet floral scent of her perfume filling his nostrils, he imagined he could. Damn, he wished it was summer and she was wearing something that bared her arms.
“You were listening to my show,” she said.
“Yes.” He reached out and flicked off the radio. He backed out of the parking lot and headed for the diner she’d mentioned. “Interesting show. Tell me about your listeners fixing you up.”
“Oh, that. Well, I kind of have a horrible track record with men. The latest and greatest being my fiancé, Bob, who dumped me on New Year’s Eve at a huge party that my parents threw for us. We were supposed to announce our engagement that night.”
“Ouch.”
She gave him a half smile. “Yeah. But one thing I realized after I got over the anger and the embarrassment was that I didn’t really miss Bob. Which made me start thinking about the men I seemed to be drawn to. I decided to take a page from my mom’s book.”
“Which is?”
“Throw the problem out to the listeners and see what they come up with. My mom’s a TV talk-show host.”
“I know. My secretary is a huge fan.”
“Not you?”
“No. I solve my own problems.”
“Big macho man.”
He chuckled. She made him feel good deep inside. He liked that she wasn’t intimidated by who he was. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“So what’s your usual problem-solving method?” she asked. Her tone was softer than a moment before, and he realized that she was doing the same thing he was—feeling him out and searching for answers about the person behind the spark that had flashed between them.
“What do you think?” he asked. He braked to a stop for a red light and glanced at her. Her features looked delicate in the half light that filled the car. She seemed like something ethereal that might slip away. A kind of sexy pixie that had happened into his car by accident and could disappear at any second.
“Something involving a club,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him.
The light changed and he eased forward. “Nice, Belchoir. Really nice. But you’re not quite on the mark. I’m not the violent type.”
She bit her lower lip, and for a moment his foot slipped off the gas pedal. Her lips were luscious and he wanted to feel them under his own.
“Yeah, but you’re not passive either.”
“Certainly not around you.”
“What’s that mean?” she asked.
“Just that I don’t normally leave my home in the middle of the night to have coffee with a woman.”
“Should I feel flattered?”
“Don’t get sassy.”
“Sorry. I’m just afraid.”
“Of me?”
“I guess. There’s something about you, Jack Montrose, that makes me wish…”
“What?”
“For something experience has taught me doesn’t exist.”
He didn’t want to know what that thing was. There was a sadness in her voice and in her eyes that made him want to pull her into his arms and promise her he’d never let her feel that way again. And he knew that he wasn’t the kind of man who could really make promises like that. Dammit. He knew then that this coffee thing was a mistake, and one he wouldn’t repeat. Because Lauren wasn’t like the women he’d dated in the past. She wasn’t going to be satisfied with only six months, and for the first time in his life he wondered if he would be.
Lauren ordered a chai, and Jack ordered regular coffee and added a little cream to it. An awkward silence filled the space between them. She didn’t know what to say to him. They’d only just met and yet she felt as if she’d known him forever.
Lauren toyed with her spoon until Jack reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His hand was big and warm. His nails were buffed and square—nicer looking than hers, because despite her mother’s lectures, Lauren still bit them. She was a little embarrassed and thought she should pull her hand away.
“Nervous?” he asked.
His voice seemed even deeper in the early morning hour. He wore an Icelandic cable-knit sweater and a pair of jeans so faded and soft that they clung to his thighs. She wished she’d slid in beside him on the bench seat in the booth instead of playing it safe. She wanted to be cuddled next to his big frame. To lean against his shoulder and just listen to him talk.
“No. You’re just a guy and I already got your number.”
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles before stroking the center of her palm. Little tingles of awareness spread upward, making her shift restlessly on the bench.
“Just a guy. That’s harsh. How many guys have picked you up after work and taken you to a classy joint like this one for coffee?”
Lauren glanced around the diner. It had character. The chrome-and-Formica tables and vinyl-padded seats were never going to grace the pages of any style magazine. But she liked it. “This place isn’t that bad.”
“What about the guy?”
She shifted her hand in his grip and held his large one in hers, palm up. She traced the lines on his palm with her free hand, keeping her gaze firmly away from Jack’s stormy one that seemed to see too much.
“Lauren?”
“The guy’s not bad either.” She dropped his hand and wrapped both of hers around her hot teacup to rid herself of all connection to Jack. He was disturbing to her on too many levels.
“What’s